The boutique buyer: Grey pencil skirt (Ralph Lauren)

Silver taffeta blouse (Vera w.a.n.g)

Brooch (Christian Dior)

Black heels (Salvatore Ferragamo)

Total est. cost (but spread out over years): $1,650

'Not too madly expensive.'

Annie fiddled with the canape arrangements until the glares from the huge Russian waiter behind the bar told her that she was to leave everything alone now.

The room where the show was to be held terrifyingly soon looked perfect and so serious with its deep, dark blue walls, shiny black woodwork, black floor and heady white magnolia flowers set out in black vases.

A catwalk of blue carpet curved through the room. The plan was to seat the guests at the black lacquered tables, where they could sip at their Russian c.o.c.ktails and watch the three models walk past in Perfect Dresses styled for every occasion.

Annie had thought she would be backstage, helping the models to rush in and out of the outfits which she, Elena and Lana had so carefully put together: Perfect Dress with diamonds, pearls and heels. Perfect Dress with boots and cardigan. Perfect Dress with whichever appropriate accessories could be found in Elena's, Annie's and Lana's wardrobe.

Annie had even lent out the precious sea-green bag. But only to the one model she could totally trust with it: Lana.

Yes, in just twenty minutes or so, Lana was going to be holding her own with two professional catalogue models. (Catalogue models because they were cheaper, shorter and wouldn't tower over Lana too much.) Elena had insisted on Lana modelling. She thought Lana in ballet pumps, a knitted scarf and a beret was the face of the Perfect Dress casual line.

Elena had designated Annie to front of house, so she would be chatting to guests, telling them about dresses, prices, availability, and generally using her abilities to sell, sell, sell.

Elena suddenly appeared from the room which was serving as the backstage area. 'Is anyone here yet?' she asked, glancing at her dainty watch.

'No. Not a soul, we should at least have got Sye and some friends to come round early and fill the s.p.a.ce up a bit.'

At the mention of Sye's name, Elena's face softened into a smile. As Elena hadn't been in her own room for almost a whole week, Annie could safely a.s.sume all was very well on the Sye and Elena bliss front.

'Sye doesn't think it's good for him to come ... because his mother has decided to be here,' Elena revealed.

'His mother? The wicked witch from Bloomingdale's? In person? She's not just going to send some minion in her place?'

Elena nodded, then said: 'Maybe she hear about gift bags?'

'Aha!'

The pale blue, specially commissioned Tiffany's gift bags were currently locked up in the hotel's safe. Each one contained a silver Tiffany key ring, a discount voucher, an invitation to an exclusive jewellery preview event, a mini bottle of Taittinger and a pot of finest Beluga caviare.

Word of the gift bags had been spread to all the invited guests.

'Why is Mrs Bloomingdale's coming?' Annie wondered. 'Does she know you and Sye are back together?'

'I don't know ... and my mother coming too. It is going to be h.e.l.l. Absolute h.e.l.l.'

Before they could wind their pre-show nerves into any more of a frenzy, a small knot of people began to approach the room.

But not before Annie realized that an urgent ringing sound was coming from her tiny clutch bag. 'One second,' she promised Elena.

Elena set her face to smile and began to approach the new arrivals.

'Hi it's Annie here,' Annie began, not recognizing the incoming number.

'Annie, it's Tamsin. I'm so sorry, it's been weeks and weeks, but drop everything you're doing. We have movement! I'm meeting someone to talk about you this afternoon and I'd like you to come along for the final part of the meet.'

'Really!' Annie gasped and wondered just how Tamsin was going to take the news that she couldn't possibly drop everything and be in central London for this afternoon. 'That is so fantastic. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant news.'

'I know. It's Gregor Forman from Channel Five, and we're meeting at the-'

'Tamsin, I can't be there. I would absolutely love to be there ... but I'm in New York right now.'

There was silence.

Annie looked up to see more and more guests streaming into the room and Elena glaring at her, urging her to finish the call and help meet and greet.

'You're in New York?' Tamsin asked. 'Why did I not know about this? I've told him you'll be there. When can you get back?'

'I don't know ... as soon as I possibly can,' Annie said, but she didn't know if this was true. She wanted to be here. She wanted to make sure everything was working out with the dresses before she left. And she felt truly torn. Between a career she'd thought she'd loved and this exciting new fashion business which dazzled her with all its possibilities.

'This is so extremely rude of me, I know, Tamsin, when you're working so hard for me. But I'm in the middle of something big. I'm going to have to go but I'll call you back just as soon as I can.'

'Right, fine,' Tamsin said and hung up without another word.

Annie put away her phone and tried to file away all her fears about this call. Just like Elena, she set her face to smile and began to head towards the nearest group of guests.

'Hi, how are you? Welcome,' Annie began, trying to sound as transatlantic as she could, 'what can our Russian barman fix up for you? A White Russian, perhaps? A little chilled vodka c.o.c.ktail? Maybe keep it simple with a gla.s.s of champagne? Can I just say, that is one fabulous brooch.'

The woman she had adopted, because she looked chic and formidable and just totally fashion, broke the smallest of smiles. The upper corners of her mouth twitched a fraction. It might have been the Botox effect, Annie wasn't sure.

'Christian Dior,' the woman said proudly.

'Oh, I love the Dior jewels. Love. Love. Love.'

'And not too madly expensive. My store just got a wonderful new delivery.' With that the woman handed over her card and tipped Annie a tiny wink.

'I hope you're going to love our new dresses.'

'Yes. Looking forward to your show. Now where is my White Russian, and ah! Louise ...' she recognized another new arrival and rushed over to do the air kissey, kissey thing.

Annie smiled to herself. It was sooooo fashion.

She did miss TV. Yes, she did, she decided. But would designing, making and selling dresses be even more rewarding? Especially if it was in New York. If enough dresses were sold on this Autumn/Winter run, maybe Elena really could think about having another US partner once again.

Yes, Elena could think about it ... and Annie could dream about it ... but what about Ed, Lana and the rest of her family? They might not know quite what to make of this new idea.

Whatever smile might have been playing round the corners of Annie's un-Botoxed mouth was wiped away almost immediately by the sight of Elena's cool friends arriving in a knot. Right there, out in front, tossing blond hair back with his hand was ... Taylor.

Annie gave a little gasp. What was he doing here? Had Elena actually invited him? Did he know Lana was going to be here? Even more importantly, had he not realized that Lana's rampagingly furious mom was going to be here?

But the room was filling up, there were important people to meet and greet and steer towards select reserved tables. Even when Annie was deep in charming hostess mode, she kept trying to locate Taylor, catch his eye and shoot a withering, evil look which would send him running from the room.

But no such luck. He was installed with the cool friends at a table close to the end of the catwalk. If he'd spotted Annie there, he didn't seem too worried about it.

What Annie really worried about was Lana spotting him and stumbling or tripping mid-walk at the sight of him. No matter how important Annie's job here at the front of house was, she owed Lana at least a warning about Taylor being in the audience, especially as he was obviously going to be right there on the edge of the catwalk, drawing full attention to himself.

Past the canapes and the growing fashion crowd she went, edging towards the backstage area.

'Annah? Have you seen my mother yet?' Elena was suddenly at her side, tapping at her watch.

'No ...'

'Why she not here yet? She make late entrance, huh? Just like the celebrity she think she is.'

'Do you know who her mystery guest is?' Annie asked, but this was a mistake. Elena's face immediately clouded over.

'She is bringing someone? Who is she bringing?'

'Well, I don't know ... she told me it was someone important, someone who'd land Perfect Dress on the front pages.'

'Oh no!' Elena's hand covered her mouth. 'Is always about her!' she hissed, 'never about the dresses, always about her.'

'Maybe it will help,' Annie told her soothingly, 'maybe it really will help to get us noticed. And let's face it, right now we need all the help we can get. Emily Wilmington isn't coming, by the way. She texted her NBF this afternoon to let him know.'

'Oh!'

Elena looked upset now. Too upset for Annie to tell her that Connor and his little NYC entourage weren't going to come either.

'You'll manage without us, won't you? We'd just get drunk and be noisy,' he'd said, also by text, earlier in the day.

Flipping fair-weather friend flake.

'Where are you going?' Elena asked.

'I have to tell Lana something ... backstage'

'No, you can't,' Elena hissed. 'Sye's mother, Mrs Westhoven is here and she is walking towards us.'

'Elena, so nice to see you,' said an icy voice behind Annie's shoulder.

Mrs Westhoven flicked her eyes over Annie in such a haughtily disapproving way that Annie had to wonder if she'd put her bra on over her blouse, sprouted spinach between her teeth or committed some other unforgivable faux pas.

'This is Annah Valentine from London,' said Elena, keeping her cool. 'She is helping us in the business, we are very lucky to have her, she works in television and she was with The Store for years.'

'The Store, yes, I know The Store. Which department did you buy for?' Mrs Westhoven asked, pushing her enormous sungla.s.ses to the top of her head.

She was wearing Chanel, Annie saw immediately. Funny how all the stringy mean women seemed to be drawn to Chanel. But only the stringy could wear skirts and boxy jackets cut from thick tweed boucle. Who else needed all that extra bulk from their clothes?

'I wasn't a buyer ...' Annie began. She could have pretended just this once, and probably have got away with it, but she didn't care. 'I was the personal shopper there.'

Mrs W seemed to physically recoil. She'd been talking to staff from the shop floor! And no one had even warned her.

'Where am I to sit?' she asked Elena, turning her shoulder to cut Annie from the conversation completely.

'I have a lovely front row table just for you,' Elena said as graciously as she possibly could. 'Let me take you over.'

Elena settled Mrs Westhoven into her chair, but just as she was about to walk away, she couldn't resist imparting a little nugget of information in her ear: 'I'm seeing Sye again. It's all going very well, very well indeed.'

Mrs Westhoven seemed to snort on the mouthful of champagne she'd just taken. There must have been plenty she would have liked to say to Elena at that moment. In fact, Mrs W might even have walked out of the show. But just then, the lights dimmed and an overhead spotlight snapped on to illuminate the start of the runway.

Annie, as close to the backstage entrance as she'd managed to get in several frantic seconds, whispered frantically to whoever was there, 'Tell Lana, Taylor's here ... just so she knows in advance.' But there was no reply and she couldn't be sure anyone had heard.

Meanwhile the room had fallen silent in interested antic.i.p.ation which was exactly why Svetlana chose this moment to make her late, great entry.

Sweeping in through the door, a white ermine fur coat swishing at her ankles, spectacular diamonds blinking in the pale available light, great blonde beehive hair making her appear about six foot five, she announced in her deep, husky voice, 'Oh darrrrrlink, we are just on time. Look they wait for us and here is our seat, right at the front.'

Heads all around the room craned as Svetlana, coat, diamonds and beehive picked their way through the tables and chairs to the prime seat right at the top of the runway.

Svetlana's arm was tightly gripped by her old friend and the richest New York male she could lay her hands on at short notice Donald Trump. His hair, tan and diamond-studded tie clip glittered and shimmered in the spotlight just as much as Svetlana did.

As the pair sat down, they began to sip elegantly at the gla.s.ses of champagne which appeared as if by magic in their hands.

'My mother,' Elena breathed into Annie's ear: 'it's always all about her.'